Fucking His Mature Movie Star Crush

The day Chris Ames landed his first role in a feature film was the best day of his life. He knew he'd skipped several rungs on the career ladder and gone from being a no-name actor in a used car commercial to supporting actor in a legitimate film with one of his idols playing the lead.

Holy. Shit.

And not only that — he played the boy toy love interest of Celeste Kincaid. He was going to get to make out with Celeste...fucking...Kincaid. At 23, Chris was the perfect age to have had a huge crush on Celeste when she took Hollywood and the world by storm as the cute girl-next-door heroine in a teen movie that had a ridiculous plot no one remembered. But her hazel eyes and dark hair streaked with blonde highlights accompanied by that now-iconic low-cut green top and black hot pants made the movie an instant classic to every male of his generation.

That movie had come out when he was nine, and at the time, Celeste was 26.

Today, at 40, Celeste was a stunning natural beauty who had never gone the typical Hollywood route of fake lips, breasts and God only knew what else. She was the darling of an online campaign to do away with airbrushing pictures on magazine covers. Her detractors said it was easy for her, as she was one of the lucky few people who just never seem to age. But she took it all in stride.

Chris had seen all of her movies. There weren't a ton, but from a sci-fi space pioneer film to one in which she was sort of a female version of Indiana Jones, he'd always gone and seen them, even if just to see her.

Now he'd be in one. It had been three weeks since The Call had come and the director, Jason Bloomberg, had personally congratulated him on getting the part, and Chris was still in shock when he thought about it. It still didn't seem real. This would open doors for him he'd only ever imagined.

His cellphone rang. A pretty common occurrence now that his friends and his "friends" had all heard the news. He looked down and saw that it was Pete Flanagan, who'd come to Los Angeles with him four years earlier and done pretty well for himself as a frequent supporting actor.

"Hey, Pete, what's up?" Chris answered.

"You hear yet?" Pete's excitement was brimming over through the phone.

"Hear what?"

"Don't be coy with me, Chris."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh shit. You really don't know," Pete said with a laugh. "It's all over the news now." He shifted his voice to an approximation of a TV newsman and continued, "Celeste Kincaid confirms she will bare all in her next film, hints at steamy love scene."

Chris felt his heart skip. "Wait, what?"

Celeste Kincaid had famously never done a nude scene, regardless of how much some producers had begged her to do one. She'd also never accepted the standing offer of half a million dollars to pose for an Internet porn site, and she'd never been outed in any of the now-relentless hacks of celeb photo accounts that frequently turned up private sexy photos, suggesting she'd never allowed herself to be filmed nude even in her personal life.

"This has to be you, right?" Pete said. "I mean, you have to be the one in the love scene."

Chris was already scanning headlines on his iPad. It seemed legit. One story had quotes from her where she said she just felt like it, and felt this story was the one where it would make sense.

"I, umm...yeah," Chris said. "I guess so."

"Lucky son of a bitch," Pete said. "You really hit gold here. Of course, it'll be awkward as fuck, so enjoy that."

The phone beeped to indicate Pete had ended the call, and Chris sat down, wondering if he was reading it right. Of course he wanted to be in a steamy sex scene with Celeste Kincaid. But then, did he? It suddenly seemed like too much to take in.

Three days later, he was signing papers in the studio office. Having never bared skin before, he didn't realize that the lawyers made sure to spell out every aspect of what he'd be required to do. He had yet to even meet Celeste, but here he was, signing papers that laid out the process in weirdly clinical terms, like "Remove her shirt, bury head in breasts as you unhook her bra. Let bra fall aside. Suck left nipple."

"Ok, then," he muttered to himself as he read through it all and signed at the bottom, his signature less neat than normal given how much his heart was racing at the thought.

As he handed his paper in to the director's assistant, Jason Bloomberg poked his head out of his office and beckoned Chris inside.

"Shut the door," he said as Chris entered. "Are you ready for this? I know this is all new for you."

"Yeah," Chris said, trying to sound confident.

"Your acting skills need to be better on set than that lame attempt," Bloomberg said, looking up with a smile. "I know it's awkward, but you'll do fine. I don't have to tell you that you need to be respectful, correct?"

"Absolutely not," Chris said. "I'm not 'that' guy."

"Good. Because a sex scene is not sex. It's not going to be fun, and it's not going to be easy. It's a lot of work, but we will make sure to clear out all nonessential people. Even then, there's going to be quite an audience. But they're all professionals, as you and Ms. Kincaid are. Follow the script, say the lines, and try not to think too much."

Chris nodded.

"So, we will film the intimate scene first. I find it's better to do it this way, so it's not some ball of anxiety hanging over everyone's heads. Plus, if you and Ms. Kincaid hate each other after working together for a little while, it's less you have to fake."

"That sounds good," Chris said.

"Great. I'll see you Monday."

The next day, the Saturday before the shoot, his phone beeped with a number he hadn't ever seen before. Thinking it was a spam text, he almost deleted it without reading, but clicked on it anyway.

"Hi Chris - this is Celeste. Since we are shooting Monday and we have yet to meet, I'd really like to have a coffee or something first. Are you free today?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Nice try, whoever this is," he responded.

A minute or so later, his phone beeped again. Another text. Same number. Chris looked at it and saw his phone loading a picture. It was Celeste, sitting on a couch, hair wrapped in a towel, with the visible hand holding a scrap of paper that read, "Hey, Chris — it's really me. Coffee?"

"Oh, shit — sorry! Thought I was being punked," he hastily responded. "Yes. Tell me when and where."

Three hours later, Chris found himself staring into the camera at the gate to an address in Beverly Hills. The gate clicked, and he passed through, to the amazement of the occupants of a star homes tour van parked across the street.

"None of these people know who I am," Chris thought to himself. "But many of them will once this movie comes out."

A big man in a suit opened the door as Chris walked up, smiling and ushering him inside.

"Head into the kitchen. She'll be down in a second," he said, waving his hand down the hall.

Chris stood in the room, admiring the stainless-steel appliances and uber-expensive espresso machine as well as the reclaimed wood table. It was all very chic, and so far from his Ikea-furnished apartment that it didn't seem real.

"Hi," came the voice he recognized so well, and he turned around to face where it had come from.

"Hi, nice to meet you," he said, holing out a hand.

When she shook it, he felt the excitement of an adolescent boy shoot through his body. He'd only ever dreamed of meeting her, and even though he'd shaken hands with celebs before, this was a level above.

"You too," she said. "I hope I'm not keeping you from anything. I know it's short notice."

"No worries, I was just chilling," he said, letting his eyes take her in. She was wearing form-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that somehow went a fair way to showing off her curves. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and he thought she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She tucked a loose strand of her medium-length hair behind her ear as her hazel eyes assessed him, and he was suddenly self-conscious of the fact that she was probably determining whether he was believable as the object of her desire in a movie. He worked out regularly, ran three times a week and knew his face with its charming dimples was something a lot of women found attractive, but this was someone who could have anyone.

And she saw right through him.

"You'll do," she said, flashing him a brilliant smile.

"Thanks," he laughed.

"Want a coffee? I'm going to make a cappuccino."

"Sure. I'll have one," he answered.

He couldn't believe it as he stood there and watched her make two cappuccinos herself. He'd assumed she'd have people for that. It was just like a Starbucks, only on another planet, maybe.

"Take a seat," she said, motioning him to an overstuffed couch.

She followed and sat down next to him, and his heart raced with her closeness as he sipped the coffee to keep himself from saying something inane or stupid.

"I'm nervous as fuck about this, too," she said.

He looked up. "Seriously?"

"Are you kidding? You read the script, right? Of course I'm nervous. That's why I really wanted to meet you first."

"Thats actually reassuring to hear," he said. "Because, yeah, I'm pretty nervous. I've never done a nude scene either."

"Well, here I was hoping you'd be able to show me the ropes."

They both laughed, and he said, "Is there anything I can do to make sure you're comfortable?"

"Thanks for asking. I'm honestly not sure, though. I'm a little nervous right now, but it's not your fault."

"You're nervous?" Chris laughed. "How? Why?" He laughed again.

"I'm not used to being around the next 20-something heartthrob and wondering if it's believable, to be honest with you."

"Shit, seriously? I'm sitting next to the Hollywood queen that was my high school crush and wondering how the hell anyone will believe this."

"Ah, but I used to be your crush — that's my fear. Did I wait too long for this? And you can't ever tell anyone I said that. I'm being open with you because I think we really need to be comfortable with each other if we're going to make this scene work on Monday. This isn't for broad circulation."

"I absolutely respect your privacy, and I know you'll respect mine as well," he said. "But if you're worried — don't be. You're still the most beautiful woman in Hollywood, and I only used the past tense because I didn't want to make it even more awkward."

"Well, I get that. And it looks like I've made it even more awkward now," she said, laughing. "I guess this is why Jason doesn't want his actors getting to know each other too well before shooting."

Chris shrugged, then reached out a hand and took hers in it, squeezing lightly. "Is this OK?"

"Oddly, yes," she said with a laugh, squeezing back.

He released her hand and took a sip of his coffee.

"Let's just pretend this is a first date," she said. "Those are always awkward, and even though our first date is in the script, we're shooting it after, so theoretically the sex should be less awkward, so I'm glad we are getting the awkward started now. Because Monday is still going to be awkward as fuck. Did I saw awkward enough times?"

He laughed. "Yep. So, if this is a pretend first date, should I ask you what you do?"

She grinned. "Yeah, I'm either an actress, or a frustrated divorcée who wants to bang a younger guy."

"Let's go with actress. I don't want to get stuck in the script just yet."

"Actress and divorcée, then," she said, laughing again and shaking her head.

They talked for a couple of hours, and Chris was able to relax with her and feel more comfortable. Happily, he found her to be a very real woman with a down-to-earth vibe who could laugh at herself and didn't fall into any of the Hollywood stereotypes.

"Well, I should probably let you get to your evening," Chris said with reluctance as the sun set outside the large windows. He wanted to stay, but didn't want to overstay his welcome and was afraid she'd be too polite to kick him out when she tired of his company.

They moved to the door, and he turned to her. "Well, this was a fun faux first date," he said.

"I agree," she replied. "So...sex on Monday then?"

He laughed. "Sounds good. But only if we can go for like seven hours and have a camera crew. I'm kinky like that."

"Whew! I was worried I was the only one."

"Honestly, it was nice to meet you," he said, holding out his hand. "I feel a lot better going into this now."

"Me too, she said," but I'm not shaking your hand, and she pulled him in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, delighting in the sensation of her breasts pressing against him, and when their hips met, he felt himself stiffening against his jeans.

"I'm glad this feels nice, too," she said into his ear, and he swore he felt the gentle brush of her lips. He went to pull back, and by some uncommunicated agreement, they both stopped short of pulling away, their faces inches apart.

Before he realized who made the first move, their lips were coming together, and he felt the softness of hers against his as they met in a gentle kiss.

"Mmm," he moaned as she opened her mouth to him and he pulled her tight against his body, letting his tongue flick into her mouth to find and massage hers.

They broke the kiss slowly. "Holy shit," he said.

"I guess that's good to get out of the way in private," she said, grinning. "Now when we start making out furiously — did he really write 'furiously' in the script? Jesus — it won't be our first kiss."

"Yeah," he breathed, his mind racing, unable to comprehend the fact that he'd just kissed Celeste Kincaid. HOLY SHIT! Sadly...it was just for a movie.

"Or our second," he said, leaning in and kissing her long and deeply again, feeling her grind herself against him.

"Ok, we should probably save the rest for Monday," she said, winking at him as he broke the kiss.

* * *

Chris had never looked forward to a Monday more in his life. He arrived on set at 6 a.m. and spent an hour in makeup before heading into the studio. It was a bedroom scene, and it looked about like he expected it would - bed with way too many pillows between two contemporary nightstands, some art he was not cultured enough to understand on one wall, a doorway to a master bathroom and another doorway into the walk-in closet next to it. A third door presumably led down a hallway.

"You ready for this?" asked Bloomberg.

"I guess so," Chris said.

"Well, go get your privacy sock on, then, and come back out here.

In his dressing room, Chris stripped down and put on the privacy sock - basically a loose-fitting condom that would keep him from having skin-to-skin contact down there with Celeste during the shoot. He then re-dressed and went back out to the set, where Celeste was talking to Bloomberg.

"I want you two to meet," Bloomberg said, and Celeste shot him a wink as she held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said as they shook.

"Ok, well, I see you've met, but I won't ask any questions," Bloomberg said.

"Shit, you're good at this," Celeste said with a laugh.

"Well, let's get started," Bloomberg said. "All right! Everyone who shouldn't be here, get the hell out!"

Once the scene was set, lighting adjusted, crew in place and all the nonessential people sent on their way, Chris and Celeste stood outside the door to the bedroom, pretending as if they'd just walked down the hallway. In about a week, they were scheduled to shoot the scene that led to the bedroom scene, and Chris replayed that portion of the script in his mind: a dinner out followed by her inviting him back to her place, wine on the couch, one thing leading to another, her standing and taking him by the hand to her bedroom.

Celeste wore a satiny green dress nearly the same color as the top that was etched in his mind from the movie in which he developed his crush for her. He was sure the choice was no accident. It displayed her figure perfectly, showing a classy amount of cleavage with two spaghetti straps and the base ending just above her knees. Her hair came down to her shoulders, and the shoes she wore — a pair of wedges — accentuated her well-toned calves and brought her nearer his height.

"ACTION!" Bloomberg shouted.

Celeste took his hand and led him around the corner into the shot, then through the doorframe into the bedroom.

Without speaking, she turned to face him, and he lifted her hand, playing with her fingers, taking a deep breath as the script indicated.

"I, uhh..." he stammered. "Are you sure?"

She gave him an alluring smile, and he felt his heart race.

"The question is, are you sure?"

He laughed nervously and drew her closer to him. The space between them closed slowly, and he breathed in her scent. Still holding her right hand with his, he reached with his left to the small of her back and drew her toward him, sliding his hand down to her ass and squeezing gently as he brought his lips to hers.

They kissed slowly, her soft lips opening with agonizing reluctance before their tongues touched. He released her hand and they hugged each other tightly. He opened an eye and saw the red light on one of the cameras recording.

"CUT!" Bloomberg shouted. "Your body language shifted too much when you looked at the camera, Chris. No worries — it happens. It'll just take a little getting used to.

It took another eight shots to get past that point, from light hitting her face wrong to once when he stumbled walking toward her to an inadvertent laugh that caused more laughing in the next two takes. But as the takes came and went, Chris and Celeste got more comfortable with each other.

Kissing Celeste again, he held her tight, reveling in the sensation of her body pressed against his. She ran her hands up to the back of his neck, toying with his hair and drawing her fingertips behind his ears, and he ran his right hand down her back, gripping her ass and then sliding it farther to the back of her thigh until she lifted her leg and wrapped it around behind him, giving him access to the underside of her leg as the hem of her dress rode up.

He rubbed the back of her leg up and down as she clenched it around him, letting his fingertips run up between her thighs as he pulled her dress higher.

She drew her breath in sharply, and he moved both hands quickly to the top of her dress to undo the clasp and slowly draw the zipper down to the small of her back.

"Mmmm," she moaned, kissing the side of his neck and running her tongue up to his earlobe as he pulled the spaghetti straps off her shoulders.

He stepped back slightly and the dress fell away, leaving her in a black lacy bra and matching panties, the wedges and nothing else.

"Holy shit," he muttered, stepping back to take in the sight of her.

"Holy shit," he repeated, then felt his stomach flip as he realized that wasn't in the script.

"I'm glad I can still get that reaction," Celeste said, ad libbing with him. "Now come over here. It's my turn."

He stepped closer to her, and she deftly unbuttoned his shirt. As it dropped to the ground, she knelt down and undid his belt buckle, then slowly unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down. She grabbed the waist of his pants at each hip and yanked them down, revealing the fact that in spite of how awkward the situation was with the camera crew and knowing that Bloomberg could yell "cut" at any time, he had a raging hard-on pressing against his boxer briefs.

"Mmmm," Celeste moaned, inching her face closer to his crotch before moving up and kissing his well-defined abs as she stood and he took her in his arms again.

Kissing her deeply, he pulled her close, the heat of her skin pressing against his and bringing his cock to the point here he felt it would burst out of his boxer briefs as she gyrated slightly against him.